Friend or Foe?
by Moriarty -101
Summary: What goes on inside the head of Toby? The son of Sherlock Holmes can piece things together as easily as his father who he hasn't said a word to after past events, now the seven year old acts mute. But when a seemingly ordinary investigation spreads into s


_**Friend or Foe?**_

_**Hi guys, Moriarty – 101 here! I was previously the Insane Marshmallow but after a break from writing I had free time which led to re-watching episodes of Sherlock until I became obsessive (Yeah, it's a habit with me). A couple of my friends and myself at one point were discussing what may have happened before John Watson and we came up with this idea. They suggested I write it on here so I thought why not? It's centred on the son of Sherlock, Toby. Hope you guys enjoy it!**_

**This is set just before **_**the Hounds of Baskerville **_

John Watson was just straightening his jacket in the hall of his residence in Baker Street when there was a rough knock at the door. He glanced at his watch and wondered who would be calling at half eight on a Friday morning. The man opened the door to revel two people standing between the black wooden door and the bustling London Street. There was a tall broad man with fading hair who looked as if he'd rather be somewhere else and a kid. A boy of no more than seven, a thick winter hat pulled down tight over a set of loose dark curls and a small suitcase in his hands.

'Mornin' mate; I'll leave him with you. Give Rob a call on Monday night and he'll be gone by Tuesday. Later.' The man turned and left in a held cab. The boy dragged his case through the door of 221B. John ran out into the street after the cab.

'Wait!' He shouted but the cab turned a corner and was gone from sight. John turned back and retreated into the open hall. The boy was standing behind his small suitcase, dressed in a long dark coat and hat which matched his hair but contrasted against his pale white face. His mouth was slightly agape as he breathed heavily and stared up at John who was looking between the stairs, the door and the boy.

'Um, well...' John had no idea what to do. The boy seemed slightly frightened and out of his comfort zone. Who was he? Why had the man just left him here? John pondered this as he heard footsteps pound down the bare staircase. Sherlock dropped to the ground floor and looked between John and the boy.

'Sherlock...some man just left him here...I have no idea...' John was just lost, matching the look the young boy held.

'It's alright John, I've been expecting this.' Sherlock strode over to the silent boy and crouched down in front.

'Hello again. You're looking well...' Sherlock who claimed to understand what was going on trailed off as he seemed to lose his train of thought or maybe he lost the motive to speak. The boy continued to stare through blue eyes at Sherlock: half uncertainly, half telling he wished to be somewhere else. Sherlock sighed through his teeth as he looked at the silent boy.

'There's a spare room on the top floor. Just...unpack and make yourself at home.' The boy didn't even nod as he began to heave the case along the carpet and dragged it up the stairs, one at a time. Sherlock looked as if he were to offer help but held his tongue. Sherlock turned round to a bewildered looking John.

'Who's that?'

'Oh didn't I tell you?' Sherlock said as he glanced up the stairs. 'That's my son, Toby. He stops with me on the occasional weekend in the holidays. Hope you don't mind.' At this Sherlock turned and headed back up the stairs, his silk dressing gown wavering behind him like a cape. John stared blankly up the stairs like a lost goldfish before mentally shaking his head and heading out to work at the Surgery.

Sherlock was eating the last slice of toast from breakfast as he aimlessly flicked through the morning paper.

'Boring. Goodbye.' Sherlock said as tossed the offending pages into the bin when something caught his eye.

'_Third person missing._' It was only a small article, nothing as important as a celebrity scandal, Sherlock thought bitterly. He scanned the available information and deducted that the so-called 'missing' people were people probably avoiding paying back loans. He was just about to fire up his laptop to search for a more interesting case when there was a bang and shudder from upstairs. Sherlock discarded the last piece of his toast as he warily climbed the set of stairs to the top floor of 221B Baker Street, glancing uncertainly up the stairs. He reached the spare room to find the small boy ad toppled over the chest of drawers. How a skinny boy of seven had managed to heave it to the floor Sherlock didn't know, and judging by Toby just standing there, looking at the fallen piece of furniture he had no clue what to do. He didn't even look up as Sherlock stepped into the room and pulled the chest up again with strained effort.

'Have you finished unpacking?' He saw the empty case as soon as he came in, he was just trying to make conversation but Toby remained silent, just staring at the place where the fallen piece had been seconds ago.

'Maybe there is something downstairs for something to occupy yourself with?' At this suggestion Toby turned and left the room. Sherlock glanced over the unpacked items and knew this visit was probably not going to be much different from all the others, since the incident.

Sherlock seethed momentarily through his teeth before leaving the small room and back down the bare stairs. He entered the living space to see Toby had picked up a random book and was engrossed. It was stopping the awkward attempts of conversation so Sherlock didn't question it or attempt anything else. He fired up the laptop and began his search.

He searched for over an hour but nothing of suitable interest arose. He slammed the lid down in a huff and hit the surface of the table. He saw Toby momentarily look up from his book at the noise but didn't say anything – as usual. His bored mind was momentarily distracted as he heard a knock at the door and Mrs. Hudson answered. He played for a few seconds of who it could be and he was more than happy to see Lestrade rush up the stairs – something had arisen.

'What is it?' Sherlock very nearly sounded excited but Lestrade stayed silent as he looked at Toby placed on the sofa, still engrossed in the novel by Charles Dickens.

'Dear god...' Lestrade recognised the boy instantly and Toby looked up, assessing Lestrade to memory. The face seemed to strike a memory because he gave the slightest of nods before re-facing his book. Lestrade cross the living room and looked at Sherlock.

'Christ he's gotten bigger. Looks just like you. Is he still mute?' Sherlock nodded and glanced over the boy and did see key similarities but was more focused on what Lestrade had come to offer.

'A body, some young lad just left in a skip. Wrapped up pretty tightly, been about a few days in there. No leads or fingerprints so far. Will you come?'

'Off course,' Sherlock removed his dressing gown and pulled on his suit jacket and coat. Lestrade knew he'd take a cab so he gave him the address and left.

He crossed the room as he pulled on his scarf. He looked over at Toby who was still reading, acting as if nothing at all had happened. The boy hadn't even taken his hat or coat off.

'You'll have to come with me. Lestrade won't like it if I simply leave you here on your own. Or even with Mrs. Hudson, you're meant to stay with me.' Toby knew there would be no debate or argument so he climbed off the sofa but still held the book, reading it as they walked down the stairs.

They stepped out into the cold London breeze just as a convenient taxi dropped off a passenger at the cafe next door. The two Holmes climbed in the back. Sherlock gave the man the address of the crime scene but asked to make a detour along the way. For the duration of the ride, Toby didn't say a word; he didn't even look up from his book.

John was sitting in his office in the surgery. So far it had been quiet but he knew people would be coming in crowds just after lunch. He had no current patients so he was filling the time with updating his blog on his laptop. After the case involving the 'possessed' radio and the Aluminium crutch the figures on his blog had boomed. He was just tying up the last of their latest case when there was a knock at the door. He frowned and looked at his chart, he no-one booked in at this time. The door opened and Sherlock strode into the office.

'Body, left in a skip besides the river, I'm going to need your medical expertise, Doctor Watson.' John just sat there.

'Sherlock I'm in the middle of work, I can't just drop out whenever a body appears, or a threatening message is left on a MP's car or when Mycroft has missing plans or something.'

'You don't have anyone in until half one. It's currently quarter past ten; I suggest this is the perfect time for a break.' John didn't know how the man knew his schedule but he didn't question it as it was right. He stared at the detective before sighing and agreeing. John grabbed his coat and as they pasted the receptionist he told them to call him if anything came up whilst he was gone. The two climbed into the waiting cab and John noticed the boy from the morning, Toby, was sitting across from him with his head in a thick book.

'Hello Toby. I'm John.' John introduced himself to the boy who momentarily looked up, his blue eyes squinting as he assessed John, as if determining if he was friend or foe. In the end he gave him a slight nod, the same as the one he'd given to Lestrade. After that he returned to his book. John turned to Sherlock, looking for answers.

'He's a selective mute.' Sherlock explained. He didn't even whisper as Toby would hear it anyways and the boy had heard the brief explanation for his quietness before. 'He used to talk perfectly normal, all the time in fact but after...certain events he never said another word. At least not to me.'

'What events?' John asked, being a bit more caring as he lowered his voice. Sherlock froze then. He glanced at John before his own green eyes travelled to Toby who met his gaze, steady and silent. The two stared for a few moments before the seven year old broke off first and returned to the Victorian story. For the rest of the journey Sherlock told John what Lestrade had given him on the body and he timed it perfectly as when he finished the cab drew up outside the tunnel leading to the wasteland besides the river where a body had been found in a skip.

After paying the fair, the cab drove off and the three walked under the tunnel, the brick shuddering and quaking beneath the weight of a travelling train.

'So let's see what Lestrade has found.' Sherlock said as they reached the end of the tunnel to a couple of police cars next to the blue and white police tap. Sherlock sighed as they approached, seeing Donovan and Anderson at the tape.

'Oh great, the freak's here.' Anderson scoffed as they approached.

'Here we are again, Anderson. Detective Inspector Lestrade called us to look for things you clearly have missed.' Anderson narrowed his eyes as Sherlock lifted the barrier up himself and John walked under. Sherlock turned his head and beckoned Toby who had shut the book once they arrived at the crime scene.

'Hang on; you can't let a kid in here.' Donovan held her hand up to stop Toby who was staring ahead at a body lay on the ground besides the skip. 'Why's he with you anyways?' Sherlock rolled his eyes.

'It's a bit obvious why he's with me, isn't it?' Donovan and Anderson looked at Toby and the similarities made a mark in their head as they spotted the resemblance.

'What poor woman was unlucky enough to be with you?' Anderson scoffed his words again, taking his eyes off Toby who ran off towards the body.

'What the - Oi!' Anderson called after the boy who stood meters from the body.

'There's no point calling after him, he doesn't associate himself with idiots.' Sherlock gave a small grin as he turned and swept away to John's side besides a police car. The two strode over to where Lestrade was crouching down besides Toby. As they got nearer they heard snippets of the conversation Lestrade was trying to have with the boy.

'...he's doing really well now kid, maybe you should give him a chance?' When he saw Sherlock and John approaching Lestrade stood up and patted Toby's hat covered head before walking along side the two residences of Baker Street.

'No I.D on him but we're running his fingerprints through the data base now. Single gunshot wound to the chest, killed him in five minutes, what we think. Some homeless people found him, wrapped up in black bin-bags.' They reached the body of the young man which was displayed out on a flattered tarpaulin as forensics inspected the body.

'Right you lot, go get a cuppa or something.' Lestrade's order cleared the people inspecting the body. Sherlock pulled out his pocket magnifier and crouched down besides the body.

'John. Get to work.' The Doctor rolled his eyes as he pulled on a pair of inspection gloves from a set up medical table and crouched down beside the body. The doctor began inspecting a blood covered bruise on the side of the man's head, just below the red hair as Sherlock was inspecting the man's fingers. After five minutes Sherlock stood up and began pulling off his own white inspection gloves.

'Got anything?' Lestrade asked as he checked his watch.

'A bit. Victim is in his early thirties or late twenties. Single man, living with a parent, most likely his mother. And worked part time as an I.T expert.'

'I swear to god Sherlock, if you're making this up...' Sherlock rolled his eyes.

'He has strong callous on his fingertips, indicates he spends a lot of time pressing keys. Could be a musician but it's on both hands, so computer expert is more likely. Also there are faint red welt around his wrist's, he's gained the faintest electrical shock as he dismantles computers. Going by the number and the severity he does this for a living.'

'Ok, how did you get he lives with his mother?'

'His collar, he has his name written in marker pen. Adults don't write their names in their clothes. Also the fabric softener.'

'The fabric softener?'

'Floral smell puts mother at the top of the list, with names in clothing.' Lestrade and John shared a look before Sherlock allowed John to tell them his medical opinion.

'It wasn't the gun shot that killed him.'

'It wasn't?' Sherlock asked as he moved around with Lestrade to look at the dark bruise on the inner side of the man's head.

'See here?' John pointed it out. 'Hit his head pretty hard, disrupted the spinal cord; he'd be dead in a few minutes without care. The gunshot wound was made afterwards.'

'That enough for you Lestrade?' Sherlock gave the Detective Inspector the faintest of smiles before his face became blank as his eyes scanned the horizon. Lestrade and John noticed this and looked between Sherlock and their surroundings.

'What?' John asked. 'Sherlock what is it?'

'Where's Toby?' The other two began scanning the horizon as they stepped out from beneath the pitched tent as the scanned around the water bank.

'Toby?' John and Lestrade called out. The three ran past the skip over towards the bridge over the water bank.

'Sherlock. Over here!' Lestrade's voice called out and Sherlock and John raced over to the far side to where Toby was standing at the very edge of the river bank wall, staring into the murky depts. Sherlock jogged down the embankment and lowered his head to his son's level. Toby didn't even acknowledge the man, his eyes transfixed on something in the water. Sherlock glanced out to the filthy depths and saw what Toby had spotted. John and Lestrade wandered over and saw it too, floating in the river.

**There we go, that's chapter 1 done. If you have a second please take it to review and tell me your opinions on this. Is it worth continuing? IS there anything I need to add? Please let me know and thanks for reading. **


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